


you'd be north (if my heart was a compass)

by bookworm1805



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: M/M, Pining, Schmoop, and swearing because it's michael, honestly this is just a lot of pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 22:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm1805/pseuds/bookworm1805
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gavin goes back to the Motherland for 28 days. Michael isn’t pining. Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you'd be north (if my heart was a compass)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [messyjessy08](https://archiveofourown.org/users/messyjessy08/gifts).



"I’m flying back to England next week,” Gavin tells him.

Michael clicks his mouse around like he’s editing his video for a few more seconds when really his blood has frozen like cement in his veins. He tugs one end of his headphones behind his ear and turns to Gavin with forced disinterest on his face.

“How long this time?” he asks.

“A month, give or take. Gonna shoot some slowmo guys footage, we’ve got some ideas in the works that should be top.” Gavin is smiling at him, eyes happy and neck wrapped up in his silly creeper scarf and Michael, as always, tries to ignore the fact that Gavin doesn’t wear his Team Nice Dynamite necklace nearly as often as Michael wears his.

They’re not boyfriends or anything. It’s not like the necklace is a fucking promise ring.

Also wow, where the fuck did that boyfriend thing come from?

He looks at Gavin and he’s got that excited look on his face, the one he wears whenever he talks about slow motion or asks one of his hypothetical science-y questions or coos out Michael’s name when he finds diamond in a Let’s Play. He’s happy, and he wants Michael to be happy with him.

But Michael’s on autopilot, brain shutting down at the words  _back to England_. “Cool,” he says indifferently. He spins back and faces his computer. “Enjoy your fuckin’ tea and scones. Be sure to tell DanTheMan hi from Ray.” He clicks some more, drags some audio clips around and acts like he’s absorbed in his work until he feels Gavin’s eyes leave his face and his body turn away in disappointment.

He lets himself deflate a little as he undoes whatever he just did to the video.

He clenches his jaw. He knows that he’s being an asshole.

He just really doesn’t like it when Gavin goes home.

*

At first, they don’t talk a lot.

Geoff gets a text saying Gavin’s arrived at the airport, a quick little “landed @ heathrow! tell the lads im safe”, and he passes the message on to the rest of the office. That’s all the contact they have for days. Michael doesn’t mind, really. Not that Gavin is being so unreachable, and certainly not that he texted Geoff instead of him. It makes sense; they live together, Geoff was probably worried. Michael definitely wasn’t. He has one precious Gavin-free month (no pun intended). It’s a good thing. He’s glad. Really.

And maybe he is a little more aggressive than usual in the first week since Gavin left. That’s just because his normal punching bag has left the country, so naturally he has to take his hostility out on other targets. Like his X-Box, and the guy at Jersey Mike’s, and Geoff when he shows the whole Achievement Hunter office the new pictures of Gavin and Dan on his twitter feed.

But honestly, Michael enjoys the quiet of the office without a loudmouthed British moron babbling to his right all the fucking time. They record a Let’s Play in which no one fucks anyone over for eighteen whole minutes, which is an Achievement Hunter record, and certainly not one Gavin could ever abide by if he were present.

Which he’s not.

And Michael really, honestly, doesn’t care.

He tells himself this until the moment he feels his phone buzz in his pocket exactly eight days after he last saw Gavin, and the screen says he has a text from “gavvy wavvy”. Michael bites down on a reluctant smile as he realizes Gavin must’ve switched his contact name before leaving. “Fucking dumbass,” he mutters to himself and slides his thumb across the screen.

_» >[1:56:24] how r u my little boi?_

Michael rolls his eyes and puts the phone down. He’s not fucking desperate, he’ll reply when he’s good and ready.

He sits back in his chair and surveys the room around him. Ray has his headphones on, watching someone else’s gameplay on youtube. Ryan is doing god-knows-what creepy ass things in his back lair, and Geoff and Jack are setting up the camera to film this week’s AHWU. He eyes his phone, then his computer screen, showing the slow progress of his rendering video. He looks back at the phone. Back at the computer.

His phone buzzes.

_» >[1:59:40]  scotland is cold_

_» >[2:02:01] dont let ryan touch my things_

_» >[2:02:13] orr put another BLEEDING BUZZER IN MY DESK_

_» >[2:04:33] talk 2me michael i know u miss me_

Finally it becomes too much, and Michael snatches the phone off the desk where he’s been reading the texts with an increasing lightness in his chest and types out a response.

_« <[2:05:12] asswipe, didnt you think maybe i was in the middle of recording?_

He’s barely put the phone down before it’s buzzing again.

_» >[2:05:32] oh right! forgot about the time change, sorry lad_

_« <[2:06:03] w/e, i wasnt anyway_

_« <[2:06:25] i see youve been travelling around britishland. did you find nessy?_

_» >[2:07:00] u saw the pics?? :) yeah dan and i are travelling while hes on leave. currently @ st andrews_

_» >[2:07:10] its top but i miss home_

Michael ignores the way his gut rolls over at the last two texts and gives himself a few moments to unclench the death grip on his phone. He sees Geoff looking this way, probably wondering why his phone’s suddenly blowing up, but he doesn’t meet his eyes.

_« <[2:08:22] yeah well you’ll be there soon, your family probably misses you a lot_

Now Michael’s the one waiting anxiously for a reply, tapping out a nervous beat with his Dung Bingo chucks and debating whether it’d be merely pathetic or actually tragic if he pulled up Gav’s twitter to look at pictures of him. He knows just the one he’d look at: a selfie from a few days ago, Gavin giving the camera a thumbs-up with the rolling plains of Scotland in the background. His hair is almost entirely grown out now, spiky and the slightest bit shaggy, causing him to look fucking windswept in the highland breeze.

Michael may or may not have been struck momentarily breathless when Geoff first showed him the picture.

His hand is on the mouse, opening up a new browser, when his phone vibrates.

_» >[2:12:15] thats not the home i mean u donut_

_» >[2:12:23] i mean HOME_

_» >[2:12:29] in austin w/u_

Michael blinks

Fuck Gavin’s stupid text speech, but he suddenly can’t breathe.

His lungs aren’t working for some weird reason – the air is caught in his chest in a little pocket and he can’t force it out – his heart stops beating for an infinite second but then it’s thudding in his ears with a pressure he can’t escape and his vision is fading in and out of focus and he’s ninety-two percent sure this is a heart-attack, goddamn Gavin for giving him a fucking  _heart attack_ when he’s not even  _here_ and Michael doesn’t remember  _how to breathe_ —

"Michael? You okay buddy?"

Geoff appears in his line of sight and Michael somehow moves his eyes so he’s not staring at the words “ _in austin with you_ ”. “What?” he asks dazedly, opening and closing his mouth in what he hopes is some amalgamation of speech. He inhales violently and blinks. “Yeah. Yes.”

Geoff looks at him skeptically and turns to the phone still clenched with an iron grip in his hands. “Oh, are you talking to Gavin?” he smiles, “Griffon and Millie were just video chatting with him yesterday. Millie insisted, for some reason she seems to miss the little shit,” he jokes. Geoff’s smile is easy and teasing, nothing like the robotic set of Michael’s own features or the grating sound he chokes out in lieu of a laugh.

"Yeah," he grinds out. "Can’t imagine why. These next three weeks are gonna be paradise. They don’t know how good they have it right now." Geoff laughs too, and seems to be satisfied that all is well in Michael-World and goes back to Jack.

He closes his eyes. His heart rate has leveled out again but breathing still isn’t as easy as it should be. He forces himself to look back at his phone. What does he even say to that?

_« <[2:17:46] so austin is home now?_

Lame, he is so lame.

_» >[2:18:01] thats not what i said_

_« <[2:18:20] ?_

_» >[2:18:58] so u’ll pick me up at the airport yea?_

Michael blinks, because subtlety-thy-name-is-not-Gavin, but his phone buzzes two more times before he can angrily demand where the fuck Gavin’s “home” is and wonder why his stomach is hovering somewhere near his trachea at the possibilities.

_» >[2:19:07] oct 23 @6:20pm @ AUS dont be late_

_» >[2:19:13] thnx micooooooool_

_« <[2:19:55] what no_

_» >[2:20:03] <3_

_« <[2:20:15] fine._

He rolls his eyes so hard they tip back into his head and ignores the fluttering in his stomach. Those aren’t butterflies. He’s probably reacting badly to the taquitos he had for lunch.

*

Another week passes in a similar fashion. Gavin texts him at strange hours, like 4 am to say good morning  _(yeah good fucking morning i hope you realize the sun isnt even up where i am you impotent sack of shit)_  and lunchtime to tell him what he’s eating for dinner.

Michael tells himself that it doesn’t mean as much as it does, that these little conversations between them are tolerable at best and annoying at worst, but he sees the way Ray looks at him knowingly when Michael’s in the middle of recording and perks up instinctively the second his phone lights up. And he’s noticed how Jack, Ryan, Lindsay, and Barbara have all turned to him to be their primary source of information on Gavin’s day-to-day life. When he asked Lindsay why the fuck they thought he should know she just raised a deeply disbelieving eyebrow and patted him on the back.

He knows they all think the same thing, and Michael doesn’t want to know what that  _thing_ is because once he knows, he can’t un-know it, and he can’t keep on pretending Gavin doesn’t mean anything to him (and he needs to pretend, he really does, because the truth is so fucking terrifying that he can’t bear to  _think_  it—

the truth that he’s  _miserable_  without Gavin, actually certifiably miserable, and he wants him back now, forever, never out of his sight again, because it’s too  _quiet_  without him buzzing in his ear constantly, too  _empty_  without his dynamic and obnoxious presence making itself known to every corner of Austin, too  _easy_  to play games without his stupid kamikaze sabotage attempts—

and life is so dull without Gavin Free and it scares Michael to death how much he needs him).

He’s typing out a message before he realizes he’s picked up the phone.

_« <[3:45:18] there’s a reason america won the revolutionary war you know_

Two minutes later he gets a reply.

_» >[3:47:03] oh?_

_« <[3:47:20] england sucks nobs and we’re better_

_« <[3:47:26] come back_

His heart is beating so fast, he can’t believe he just said that. He can’t believe he typed out those words and  _sent_ them. God, he’s such a fucking sap, Gavin’s gonna laugh at him and roll his eyes and not understand how much Michael means that, to his very core, and he’s halfway through typing out an insulting text to counterbalance himself when he’s interrupted by Gavin’s response.

_» >[3:47:50] i’ll be home before u know it :)_

He’s said it again,  _home_ , and this time Michael’s willing to admit that the fluttering of his pulse probably isn’t due to indigestion, and that it may, possibly, be vaguely linked to Gavin Free.

*

Michael’s been climbing the walls all week.

He paces around the office when they’re not recording to the point that Geoff actually throws him out and demands he “take a lap around the premises so he stops fucking up the vibe of the room”. Gus keeps giving him dirty looks for stomping up and down the stairs and Burnie just rolls his eyes and mumbles about how he’ll be glad to have the old standard-grade Rage Quit back when Gavin returns.

Michael would resent the implication that everyone who’s anyone seems to think he’s acting this way because of Gavin, but honestly, it’s been three and a half weeks of playing dumb and he’s not sure he can keep it up anymore. Fuck, what’s even the point?

He’s not fooling anyone, least of all himself. He misses Gavin like a fucking  _limb_ , and his stomach does the lambada whenever his phone lights up with a text and his smile wants to break clear off his face when the message is something stupid, which is _always_.

Not to mention that he wants so badly to hear Gavin say those words in person,  _home is in Austin with you_ (and then he wants to kiss the words right out of his mouth and yank on his perfect shaggy hair and swallow the breathy moans from his throat).

He’s currently in a time-out in the kitchen, authorized by his so-called best friend for being a nuisance — Lindsay stated that she didn’t have time for “emotionally dimwitted morons who can’t admit they’re pining over their best friend”. But he’s anxious and restless and feels like his stomach is crawling up his digestive tract.

His phone lights up with a new text and his stomach takes a wrong turn, and he runs to the bathroom and pukes.

*

_United Airlines Flight 2667 from LHR to AUS – Terminal C – 30 MINUTE DELAY_

Michael is going to rip the skull off of the next airport employee who so much as looks at him. He’s been at this fucking airport for two and a half fucking hours, because apparently a 30 minute delay is actually  _four times that_  in airspace and  _not a single fucking employee actually knows when the flight is going to arrive._ Michael’s torn between clawing out his own hair and shoving it down someone’s throat or pelting ripped up bits of newspaper at random passersby, but either way someone is getting their fucking head ripped off  _so help him_.

He sees another employee behind the desk eyeing him, and he wonders if she’s going to call security about the suspicious angry guy lurking around the terminal, and just as he’s made up his mind to do a little more shouting his phone buzzes in his jeans.

There’s a good chance it could be Geoff, asking where the fuck he and Gavin are when his plane was meant to land two hours ago, but there’s also a chance it could be  _Gavin_  and his heart is thumping and aching with all the  _want_  building inside his body.

_» >[8:35:11] gav says hes landed now,  you guys on your way yet?_

Michael wants to punch the wall. Gavin landed? When the fuck did that happen, and why wasn’t  _he_  notified? Why was  _Geoff_?

He looks up and oh, yeah, there are people filtering in now, greeting family members and trailing suitcases behind them and Michael cranes his head for a glimpse of that messy brown hair, and what is taking so long, it’s been at least thirty seconds—

“MICHAEL!”

He hears it before he sees it, that high pitched slurred mockery of his name that Michael loves so fucking much, and then a figure hurtling through the crowds at him and the sound of a suitcase being dropped to the floor.

Now there are arms and legs coiling around him and a hundred-fifty pound koala bear wrapped around his midsection, and Michael is laughing so hard he can’t breathe and the koala is chanting out his name,  _micool micool micool micool!_

“Fuck! Gavin! You  _fucker_!” he giggles into Gavin’s collarbone. He nuzzles that spot a little, hoping it’s inconspicuous enough that Gavin won’t notice it in the excitement of the moment. His nose brushes against something cold, and it’s a silver link chain with a creeper charm at the bottom. Michael digs his fingers into Gavin’s sides and smiles a little wider.

“Get the fuck off me!” he cries without meaning it one bit, and Gavin cries out a short “No!” before clinging even more tightly. He holds on for several more long moments, possibly to prove a point or possibly because he doesn’t want to let go as much as Michael doesn’t.

When Gavin finally hops down and Michael gets a good look at him, his heart swoops stupidly in his chest. He looks sleepy and tired and a little worse-for-wear, but he’s smiling brighter than he did in any of those fucking twitter pictures with Dan and his hair is matted on one side from where he was sleeping on the plane. It’s so fucking adorable Michael can feel his bones melting into gelatinous stumps and his internal organs starting up a conga line.

“Welcome back boi,” he says with a grin, and Gavin’s eyes are literally twinkling back at him. Michael’s gotta do something besides stare into his eyes like a lovesick moron, so he elbows him aside lightly and goes to retrieve his abandoned cargo. “God, you’re such a dipshit, flinging around your suitcase. What if someone had stolen it, huh?”

He wheels it back to Gavin and finds the boy still staring at him, smiling – no,  _beaming_  – and feels as though he’s missed something.

“What?” he demands a little self-consciously.

“You missed me,” Gavin sing-songs, smile spreading ever wider.

Michael shoves the suitcase into Gavin’s hip. “Shut up.” He doesn’t deny it. “Come on, let’s get you home.” He starts to walk away, but Gavin doesn’t follow. He turns back around.

“I am home,” Gavin says. Michael nods slowly, happy that Gavin identifies his home as the United States but still too scared to examine the matter further.

“Right,” he agrees amiably, “But I mean home with Griffon and Geoff and Millie.”

He starts walking again, and Gavin still doesn’t follow. “Fuck, what now?” Michael mutters.

“I’ve been away from home for a while now,” Gavin states emphatically, as if Michael is being particularly dense and fuck, Michael’s getting a little irritated now. He’d  _like_  to take Gavin home, he really would, if only the idiot would cooperate. He’d also like to get the hell out of this shitty airport like, two hours ago.

But now Gavin is striding towards him purposely. He’s left his suitcase behind him once again, and Michael rolls his eyes before Gavin’s hand grips his chin and forces his gaze. His pulse flutters a little in his wrists and neck, and he trails his eyes along Gavin’s familiar features before settling on his eyes. “So I was thinking that next time I go to England,” Gavin says, voice quieter than normal and eyes boring into his meaningfully, “I’d take my home with me.”

Michael blinks.

“I don’t—”

Gavin releases his chin roughly and glares at him. “You’re a sodding idiot, Michael Jones,” he proclaims loudly, and Michael opens his mouth to retort but he’s cut off by a pair of lips attaching themselves to his.

Lips.

 _Gavin’s_   _lips_.

They’re soft, pressing firmly against his in more of a statement than a kiss, and Michael inhales and opens his mouth wider and then there’s a tongue licking into the seam of his lips. Against his will he physically falls into the kiss, spine melting and knees wobbling like a goddamn swooning maiden, but he’s so happy and relieved he relaxes his lips and returns the pressure. Gavin’s hand cradles the side of his face and thumbs the bolt of his jaw, and Michael clutches at the back of Gavin’s shirt and pushes himself closer. They part for air and Michael mutters “thank fuck” against Gavin’s mouth before he pulls his face back down and kisses him violently.

It’s a hot clash of soft mouths, hard teeth, and wet tongues, and Michael’s heart is beating clear out of his chest and into Gavin’s. He may be crazy but he thinks he can feel Gavin’s heart beating into his too, through bone and sinew and flesh. And with another sweeping sensation in his gut that Michael is getting extremely used to (this time it feels like the harlem shake), he rakes a hand through Gavin’s beautiful stupid messy hair like he’s been fantasizing about for the past four weeks and  _tugs_ until Gavin is keening into his smiling mouth.

He doesn’t know how long they stand there, but by the time they part again there’s only a sparse number of people still milling around from Gavin’s flight.

And then Michael realizes he’s just made out with Gavin in the middle of the airport like a girl pining after her lost love in a  _rom-com chick flick_ , and he’d be way more embarrassed by that if it wasn’t for the dopey smile on Gavin’s face and the fact that romantic clichés seem so much less clichéd when you’re actually in love.

There’s a brief not-shock of realizing he’s  _maybe-probably-completely_  in love with Gavin Free, but Michael ignores it and carries on smiling like an idiot. He laces his fingers through Gavin’s, because it’s too late to renege on the cheesy-express, plus he’s sure Gavin looks at least twice as stupid as he does.

And he knows what Gavin meant by  _home_  now. He thinks he’s found his home too.


End file.
